


Lust and Love and a Smattering of Romance

by Extrasuperberry



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bartender AU, I'm combining two different AUs, M/M, Mavin, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extrasuperberry/pseuds/Extrasuperberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin’s the lead singer in some shithole band that plays at the shithole bar Michael works at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's like, a double AU this time. Combining two cliches to make the ultimate cliche. It's not completely written yet (TBH I have no idea where I'm going with it.) But I figured I'd stick what I had out. Apologies, I haven't been banding in many years and also I have no idea how American's speak. (Also not proofread but we're not mentioning that ssssh.) Title inspired but the goddamn glorious Frank Turner from his song 4 SImple Words, which I highly suggest you check out. I like to imagine the band would sound slightly Frank Turner slightly Frightened Rabbit slightly You Me At 6, but who knows.

Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day off. He’d gotten in from the bar around 4am, and he was looking forward to sleeping in. He’d even specifically turned off his alarm clock. With all this in mind, he could not understand why he could hear some kind of obnoxious noise coming from his bedside table. Plus, something was poking the side of his head. Groaning, he raised his head from the pillow. Great. He’d fallen asleep on his drumsticks again. His fucking phone was buzzing like it had a freaking bee infestation. He checked the caller ID through bleary eyes. Geoff. He was probably calling to get Michael to open the bar to take in a delivery or something. He seriously debated just ignoring the call and going back to sleep, but Geoff had been good to him. He’d given him a full time job bartending when shit had looked hopeless. Hell, he’d even thrown the apartment above the bar in for reduced rates. Geoff had even been surprised that Michael had been grateful. 

“I don’t need it man.” Geoff had shrugged. “It’s kind of a tiny shithole, and we need to move into a bigger house anyways.” 

He owed a lot to the guy. If he was honest, he loved his job. Geoff’s bar was pretty amazing. His main thing was live music. He normally invited local unsigned bands from around the area to play. If he saw potential, he’d book you to play a few times a week, and the labels around Texas had quickly picked up on the fact that Hunter’s always had good, unsigned acts. It was crazy busy most nights, with different bands attracting different crowds each time they played, and of course, there were always those who were there to get drunk and have a good time. It had been a busy night last night with some crappy rock band playing. The band had gotten drunk beforehand and had sucked. They’d stormed off halfway through the set, talking some bullshit about how they hadn’t been soundchecked properly. Clearly bullshit. The sound guys - both called Adam - knew what they were doing. The people there to hear the band had kicked off. Things had gotten ugly. Michael’s co-worker, a huge man called Jack had been forced to act as temporary bouncer. Even Michael had taken a few blows that he was definitely feeling today. Geoff had been pissed. He’d told the band they wouldn’t’ be playing at Hunter’s again. Kinda a problem when they’d been booked in for the next week. He’d probably have to answer his boss and face the music. Didn’t mean he’d have to be happy about it.

“H’lo?” he grumbled, face smooshed back into the pillow. 

“Michael, hey. It’s Geoff. I need you to work tonight. And start earlier if you can.” Geoff wasn’t really asking. It was more a statement of intent.

“Let me get this straight. You call me at…” Michael glanced at his alarm clock. “11am after you know I got in at 4, on my day off, to ask me if I can work earlier?” 

“Michael, you know I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t desperate. Jack’s called in. He thinks he’s sprained his wrist after his whole Hercules thing last night throwing people about. We can’t just have Lindsay on the bar tonight. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

“What about Ryan?” Michael muttered. His day of sleeping and playing was looking less and less likely.

“He’s up to the usual suspicious bullshit. Keeps talking about fucking cows. He can’t work.” Geoff sensed Michael softening and went for the killer blow. “I’ll let you play drums after close?” 

Michael groaned. That goddamned beautiful drum kit Geoff had invested after it became obvious that most bands either used some bullshit preset on their keys or a drum machine. Normally, Michael or one of the other guys were proficient enough to accompany the band if they needed it. Down in the bar, he could play as loudly as he wanted, without having to worry about neighbour complaints. He glanced across at his pride and joy, a cherry red drum kit. He’d spent a fucking fortune on it and the acoustic guitar sitting next to it. He hardly ever played it as well. Unsurpirsingly, neighbours didn’t appreciate it when you kept weird times, and practiced only late at night, into the early morning. Looked like he’d have to wait another day to get some proper writing done. The drumkit downstairs was calling to him.   
“Fine. But you owe me.” Michael grunted. “What time do you need me in for?” 

“Well, the bar opens at 3, which is when Lindsay starts. I’ve got a new band playing tonight, some kinda indie shit. I’ll need you in to show them the ropes, help them set up.”  
“An indie band? Goddamnit Geoff you know that shit isn’t what people are looking for here.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault somebody with access to the bar last night had a crush on the singer of the band I had pencilled in. Not my fault that they kept giving them alcohol. Not my fault my best bartender has such low fucking self-esteem that they don’t believe that someone could be interested in them sober.” 

Michael winced. “You knew about that huh? Sorry Geoff. You know I can’t resist the musicians.” He said. Geoff snorted in derision. “Guy was a fucking lightweight anyway. He was smashed after, like, two beers. Didn’t even put out.” 

Ok. So the minor riot last night may have been his fault. In Michael’s mind, getting drunk and having one night stands with the people from the bands was just a bonus to being a bartender. That slick system had gone slightly awry last night. The singer, God he couldn’t even remember his name, had ranted and raved to Michael about how awful the acoustics were in the bar, until Michael couldn’t stand it anymore and had snapped at the guy to shut up. It escalated pretty quickly from there, with the two hurling abuse at each other until Jack had stepped in, getting clocked for his troubles. 

Then of course, Michael went, as Lindsay would put it, “New Jersey on his ass.” He’d blackened the pretty singer’s pretty blue eyes. Shit kicked off and soon descended into a full scale bar brawl. Nothing that they couldn’t handle of course, but Michael had spent the better part of the night clearing up broken glass and feeling sorry for himself.   
Geoff sighed deeply over the phone.

“Michael, dude, you’ve gotta stop doing this. Trying to sleep with as many musicians as possible isn’t healthy.” 

As much as he hated to admit it, Geoff was probably right. “I know.” He muttered, running his hand through his unruly curls and sitting up. Not like he was gonna get back to sleep anyway and he needed to get food for the rest of the week before he went to work.

“Look, Michael. Just promise me you won’t try anything with this band okay? They’re pretty up and coming. They’ve already got a record deal with Roosterteeth. I had to call in about a million favours from Burnie to get him to agree to let them play. I had to agree to some bullshit ‘exclusivity’ thing. They’re playing 6 nights a week for the next month. I can’t have anyone else playing at the bar during that time. You fucking one of them on the first night would make it pretty awkward.”

“A FUCKING MONTH GEOFF? Are you kidding me?” Michael stuck Geoff on speakerphone as he rolled out of bed, sitting the phone on his bedside table. 

“Nope. Burnie think’s it’ll be good to have the band actually working together constantly. He thinks it’ll ‘hone their craft’ or something.’” Geoff’s voice echoed from the table as Michael pulled on yesterday’s jeans. They were probably good for another day without washing right? He couldn’t really afford to be wasting washing powder. “They’re a bunch of guys who started playing in their garage together, and somehow managed to get a record deal without playing a single crowd. They’re not so hot on the whole live performance side of things.”

“And you think having them play every night for four weeks will get them that?” He’d seen this before. Some bands were good at the whole songwriting thing, but as soon as they got in front of a crowd, they froze. One of the first bands he’d seen working with Geoff had had this super cool confident chick as their frontwoman. . Michael had worshipped her from the first moment he’d seen her. There had been a lot of hype about her in particular. She had laughing eyes, with this amazing Irish accent and flame red hair. She was apparently extremely talented, not that he’d ever heard her sing. It had all fallen apart as soon as her band had gotten up in front of the crowd. The drummer lost the beat, the guitarist had forgotten his chords, and she’d stared at the cheering crowd in front of her with fear in her eyes. She’d frozen up. That night, they’d slept together, both desperate, clutching each other like it was the last time they’d ever see the other again. It had been. The next day, he woke up and she was already on a flight to Los Angeles. He heard she was a session musician now, writing songs on the side. 

“Hey man, it worked for the Beatles.” Geoff’s voice drew Michael out of his reminiscing. 

“… Geoff, please tell me you are not comparing one of the greatest bands in the world to some bullshit Indie band from Texas?”

“Actually….” 

“What?”

“Two of them are from Britain. They’re best friends. Apparently they moved over here because they figured it would be easier to stand out with British accents, and British influences. They met the other guy later.”

Michael snorted derisively. “Well, they sound like fucking idiots who have no idea how the real world works.”

He could almost hear Geoff’s shrug. “I haven’t actually heard them yet. I’m taking Burnie’s word for it. We’re both benefiting. He gets them the experience; I get me a guaranteed band for a whole month. Like a house band or something. Could be good for business.” 

Michael was in the kitchen now. He opened the fridge. Nothing except milk and butter. Toast and coffee it was. “Look Geoff, as much as I’d love to chat about how much of a fucking idiot you are for signing a band for a month, without even hearing them play, I really need to go grocery shopping.”

“Sure dude. I’ll see you tonight. Good luck with the band. Oh, and try and buy something green and healthy for once.” With those words of wisdom, Geoff hung up. Michael rolled his eyes. He’d worked at ‘Hunter’s’ for nearly 5 years now, after being hired by Geoff when he was 19 years and running as far across America as he could. He was kind of an expert in live music now. And hiring some English guys without even hearing them? Stupidest thing he’d ever heard. He downed the last of his coffee, wincing as it scalded his tongue, and grabbed his jacket. He checked his wallet. The majority of his pay check went to his rent. Geoff probably wouldn’t want him to, but he’d cover the cost of the broken glasses from last night as well. That left him with… not as much as he would have hoped. Looked like he’d have to skip the green stuff. Healthy shit was expensive. Geoff would probably invite him round for dinner one night, which would have to be his vegetable intake for the week. He could probably persuade Lindsay to give him an apple tonight if he looked sad enough. She always seemed to bring two anyway. He’d see what the store could offer him first before he went scrounging though. He’d learned how to get by on a little from a pretty young age anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so Gavin hasn't actually made an appearance yet. Hey, slowburn and shit. As per, because I suck, this hasn't been properly proofread. Apologies for the typo's and bad formatting etc.

Michael walked into the bar around 4. It was pretty dead, probably wouldn’t get busy until later on in the evening. There were a few regulars over at the window. Music was playing in the background. Some of the more successful bands would send CD’s to the bar as thanks, which Geoff normally put on in the afternoons when it was quiet. If you asked him, it was kinda ungrateful that all these bands gave to the guy who was basically responsible for their success was a fucking CD, but hey. They were big names now. Couldn’t be seen mingling with the little people. Lindsay was leaning on the bar watching the muted overhead TV. She glanced up as he walked in.

“Hey asshole.” She grinned at him. 

“Hey.” He nodded at her. “Geoff asked me to come in early? Some bullshit about helping this new band set up.” 

“Yeah, they’re not here yet. Geoff asked them to come in around 4. We all know that in Band time that’s about an hour later.” Lindsay shrugged. They were speaking from experience. Most of these entitled asshole bands thought they were too good to show up and play, let alone turn up on time. 

“Guess I’ll just hang about then. Hey, you got any food?” Michael asked, walking behind the bar. Lindsay rolled her eyes. 

“There’s a few apples in my bag. You gotta start eating properly Michael.” 

He shrugged. “Too much effort.” He grabbed Lindsay’s bag and one of the delicious green apples that she always seemed to have in abundance. Biting down, he sat down at one of the barstools and pulled out his notebook. 

“Still writing your shitty songs I see? Why don’t you ask Geoff if you can play at one of the open-mic’s? You know he’d say yes.” Lindsay asked, placing a coke in front of him.

Michael glanced up. “That’s exactly why I don’t ask. I want to do this my own way Linds. The songs aren’t ready. Besides, I suck at playing guitar and a one man drummer screaming song lyrics is maybe not the way to go.” 

“Hey you never know. It’s different. The hipsters could think you’re the next big thing.”

“Yeah, because my one goal in life is to be appealing to the fucking hipsters.”

“What even is your style though? You never show anyone what you’re working on? Are you secretly, like, some pop singer with a hard-on for Miley Cyrus? Coz you know, I need another lover of the pop. Everyone else here is such a pretentious douche with their music.”

“And that includes me Linds. Fucking pop music Jesus Christ. Yeah, I’m writing about my feelings in a catchy major 4/4 beat. It’s got a cute chorus that everyone’s gonna get stuck in their head.”  
“Michael don’t diss on the pop. You’re just jealous cause J-Biebs got more game than you.” Lindsay smirked, eyes never moving from the stupid reality show she was glued to.

“Shut the fuck up Lindsay, I know for a fact that you don’t like Bieber.”

“Millions of others do though. Who am I to say?” She finally peeled her eyes away from the screen, winking at Michael. “How’d it go with that cute singer by the way? You were gonna make your move last night right?”

“Don’t even pull that shit Linds, you know exactly how that went.” Michael groaned, head in hands. “Why the hell do you think we’ve got a new fucking band coming in tonight? I fucked up.” 

“I dunno, I thought maybe you’d fucked his brains out, and he’d lost his voice? Or the other band members got really jealous cause they all wanted a piece of your hot ass? Or, like, the passion overtook you and you tried to fuck on this bar and Jack had to separate you, which would explain all the suspiciously missing glasses today…”

“Haha, very funny. Guy was an asshole. He kept bitching about the acoustics of the bar, and you know damn well that the acoustics in this place are better than a fucking stadium. Dick needed a lesson taught about respecting the place you’re playing.” Michael groaned, head on the bar which wasn’t very hygienic, but hey. He’d seen worse. “I’ve completely fucked Geoff over too. Forced him into a contract for a band he hasn’t even heard.” After everything Geoff had done for him. Michael felt like an asshole. He felt a hand scrubbing through his hair.

“Don’t say that Michael. Geoff knew what he was doing. Burnie’s been trying to get him to take these guys for a while. It just so happened that this was the perfect time.”

“Don’t try and make me feel better Linds. I’m a fuck up. I know it, Geoff knows it. You’re basically the only person who doesn’t see it.” The hand tightened on his curls and pulled hard.

“Michael Jones don’t you dare say that again. You’re one of the best, most talented people I know. So you made a mistake. That guy was an asshole. At least you never actually fucked him.”

Michael smirked. “That’s true at least. I don’t know what it is. A guy who can sing or play an instrument and I’m gone even though I know most musicians are assholes. Throw in a fucking accent and I’m putty. ”

“Hey, we’ve all got our weird self-destructive kinks. Geoff said I’m supposed to cock-block you from this new band. Apparently they’ve got a few British members. I’m cool with it. He didn’t say anything about me not seducing them with my talk about cats.”

Michael snorted against the bar. “By all means Linds, have at it. I’m less likely to go for your sloppy seconds.” He raised his head off the bar and grinned at her. “This fucking band better turn up soon though. I’m going to break their balls if I have to deal with a bunch of pricks for a whole month.”

At which point a hesitant voice spoke up from behind him.

“Uhh hey, we’re the Slo Mo guys? You know, the band? We’re supposed to be meeting some guy called Michael?”

It was an American accent, deep and rolling. Michael spun around on his seat. A young guy with thick glasses had about a million amps and leads in his arms and a guitar case that looked the size of him balanced on his back. 

“Whoa, let me help you with that.” Michael stood up, taking the bigger amp. The guy huffed in relief, placing the other amp on the ground next to his feet, and letting the leads drop to the floor beside it. He kept the massive case on his back. He grinned at Michael. 

“Thanks man. I’m Ray. I’m part of the new band that are supposed to be playing here? Geoff said it’d be better if we got here early and got to know the layout and rehearse and stuff.” He glanced behind him. “Dan’s out back parking the van. We’re supposed to be meeting Michael. Apparently he can show us the ropes?”

Michael glanced at Lindsay, who was watching the exchange from behind the bar. She waved. Ray waved back. Michael scrubbed a hand through his hair again. 

“Yeah, I’m Michael. I work here. Go get the rest of your stuff, I’ll show you where to set up.” 

Ray frowned at him. “ Uhh, this is our stuff. Geoff said he could lend us some equipment. We don’t have much.” 

Michael looked at the two amps in front of him, and the young guy who looked like he shouldn’t even be out of middle school and his heart sank. What had Geoff gotten them into? This band was so green, freaking high school bands seemed more prepared than they were. 

“You’ve only got the two amps? You don’t have mics or anything?” He asked. Normally the band turned up with at least some equipment.

“Uhh, no. It didn’t really cross our minds to be honest.” Ray was starting to look a bit uncomfortable. Maybe Michael’s sheer incredulity about their lack of preparation was coming across as rude. He glanced across at Lindsay, panic in his eyes. 

“It’s totally cool, don’t worry about it! We’ve got a pretty good PA system here. The sound-guys should be in soon to help you with all the Mics and stuff.” Lindsay chimed in.   
Ray glanced up, with a hesitant smile. At that moment, a tall guy with dark hair pushed opened the door. He was carrying another amp and a guitar case. He immediately headed towards Ray. 

“I told you it was too much stuff for you to take, you idiot! You should have let me carry some!” The English lilt to his voice singled him out as one of the fabled British members of the band.

Ray shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I managed alright didn’t I Dan? This is Michael. He’s gonna help us get used to the bar.” 

Dan held out a hand to Michael , who took it. “Pleased to meet you Michael. I’m Dan Gruchy. I’m the lead guitarist with the Slo Mo guys.”

“Cool. So this is obviously the bar you guys’ll be playing in for the next few weeks. I heard you hadn’t much experience with playing live?” 

Dan shrugged. “We played a bit for family and friends. You know, the usual. School concerts and getting our family and friends to sit in. I used to do a bit of busking back in England as well.”

So they weren’t as inexperienced as he’d feared. Michael had had visions of a band that had never played anywhere except a recording booth, with no experience of how an actual gig went. Recording studios were never the same. You couldn’t keep playing until you got every note right. You couldn’t mix to make sure the band were in sync and didn’t sound like shit. You couldn’t layer multiple tracks over each other. In the world of live music, you were judged on your ability. Not by the fact that you could write catchy songs and rely on technical wizardry to make sure it sounded good. 

“The sound guys should be here soon to help you get soundchecked and miked up soon. You guys should be wanting to rehearse before tonight right? I understand it’s pretty overwhelming to find out that you’re gonna be playing live the day you’re supposed to be playing.” 

Ray ran fingers through his hair. “Yeah man. If you don’t mind us rehearsing now. Pretty weird getting a phone call from Burnie like ‘Get your stuff. You’re learning how to play live.” 

“It’s no bother to us.” Michael shrugged. Geoff had texted to say that Adam G was on his way over so he could mic them up in a flash. It wasn’t like the regulars would mind.”Hey, if it’s ok to ask… What do you play, Ray, if it’s just the two of you in the band. Are you the singer?”

Dan burst out laughing and Ray grinned sheepishly. “Nah man, I’m pretty much tonedeaf. I play the bass guitar, and sometimes the keyboards. I learned from the best you know – the Doors had this one dude who used to play keys with his right hand and bass with his left. Inspiration.”

Michael frowned. If Dan was lead, and Ray was bass, who was singing? Who was drumming? Seemed like a weird band. Dan glanced over at Lindsay. She waved again, and he grinned and headed over to her. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go get a drink from your pretty bartender.” He said without a backward glance, leaving Ray to answer Michael’s questions. Sure asshole, just try it. Linds would shoot him down in a second. 

“Our singer isn’t here. He said he’d try and turn up before the show though.” Ray said, bending down and trying to untangle the cables that had gathered at his feet. 

“Wait, your lead isn’t here? What the hell is he doing?” Michael asked. The frontman of the band had responsibilities. He was the face of the band, he was centre stage, and the one everyone came to see. What on earth could be more important than meeting your employers and getting set up? This guy must be one of those assholes who thought he was better than the rest of the band. Thought that the world revolved around him. Prick. 

Ray shrugged again. “Gav does his own thing, you know? It’s pretty hard to keep track. He said he was going to try and find a park so he could feed the ducks last I heard.”

Michael just about had an aneurysm. “FEED THE DUCKS? He’s the goddamn front man! No offense, but I think rehearsals might be hard with just bass and a guitar.” 

Ray looked up. “Nah, Gavin doesn’t really need that much rehearsal time. Besides, we thought the rehearsals were for you, so you could get to know our songs?”

Michael stopped short. “What?” He looked over at Lindsay. She was showing off her cocktail skills to an entertained Dan. 

“Yeah, our drummer walked out last week, and part of the deal Burnie struck was that we’d get a drummer for the month while we played here. He said you were, and I quote ‘phenomenal’ and he’d try and get you to play with us. He said you had some new material too. We’re always up for trying new stuff.” Ray looked at him, frowning  
.  
“Well this is the first I’m fucking hearing about this. LINDSAY?” He bellowed across the room. Lindsay dropped the cocktail maker. He stalked over to her. “Did you know that I was supposed to be the drummer in this bullshit band for the month? 

Ignoring Dan’s faint protest, Lindsay stared Michael dead in the eyes. “You were just talking about how much you needed a band to practice and get your music out there. This is your chance. You got a readymade band here just waiting for your wisdom.” 

“I’m phoning Geoff.” He growled, stalking into the backroom, completely ignoring Dan and Ray’s questions. 

Geoff was no help. “Yeah, I agreed man. I figured it was the least you could do after you fucked me over with that last band.”

“Well why didn’t you fucking tell me then?”

“And miss this rage?” Geoff cackled down the line.

“Jesus Christ Geoff, I said I was sorry about that whole situation. This is some cruel and unusual punishment right here.” 

Geoff suddenly got serious. “Look Michael, I’m doing you a favour here. Because you wanted to get your dick wet, I lost a band booking for the week, numerous glassware, we had to shut early to clean and one of my fucking bartenders is off for God knows how long because you couldn’t control yourself. Anyone else would be out on their ass. That band was dicks, it’s true,” he said over Michael’s protests. “but I’ve had to lick Burnie’s boots to get this fucking band in for a few weeks, and had to agree to some stupid fucking terms. Linds said you’re always writing in that book. Here’s your chance to hear what your music sounds like with a band behind it. You don’t like the band? You’re only playing with them for a few weeks. If you do then who knows. I’m giving you an opportunity Michael. Take it. I’ll be in later.” With that Geoff hung up. Michael groaned. He was suddenly sympathetic towards this Garage band that was being thrown in the deep end. Looked like he didn’t have a choice.

Lindsay poked her head in as he was bemoaning his life choices. “Mike? Gilby’s here. The guys are wanting to know if you’ll be playing with them? You know what Geoff’s like about drum machines.”

“Yeah Linds, I’ll be right out.” Slo Mo Guys, what a stupid fucking name. And he was supposed to learn all their songs before tonight? Shit. Guess he’d better get started. He headed out into the bar. 

“Sorry about that, guys. Just had to work a few things out with my boss. I guess we got a bit of work to do if we’re gonna be good for tonight. Should we get started? ” He asked.  
They set up the guitars quickly, and Adam headed to the booth to soundcheck. To Michael’s surprise, they weren’t bad. Dan took on duties of humming lead, whilst Ray showed Michael the basic harmonies. 

“Of course, we don’t expect you to be joining in with backing vocals tonight, but I guess you’ll be wanting to rehearse for a few days to get a feel of the songs?” Dan asked. Michael nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that Geoff probably had a CD he could practice along to. That was how he normally got to know the bands he was accompanying, albeit normally with a bit more notice. But that wasn’t an exact science. Live playing was pretty different from playing along to a disc. 

To Michael’s great surprise, they were actually pretty good. He was actually challenged, rather than the usual sit-ins where he just sat in the back, hitting a basic beat that the rest of the band could rely on. It was the first time in a long time that he’d actually been inspired to mix it up a bit, and add his own tweak on the beat. He and Ray clicked on the rhythm almost immediately, with Dan’s electric guitar swooping gracefully around, occasionally picking out the tune of the song, when Dan couldn’t be bothered humming it. The regulars and Lindsay all looked impressed, Lindsay even deigning to stop watching her shows to applaud them. After about an hour, and an almost full run of the songs that they were playing that night, they stopped briefly. 

“Obviously, it’s still a bit raw and rough, but I reckon we should be good for tonight.” Michael said, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his forehead. “It’s the first night, no-one will be expecting amazing, off the wall, hard core fucking tunes. Besides, Its a Monday. It’s not gonna be busy. We should definitely go through it once more before opening tonight though right? Is your singer actually making an appearance today or what?”

Ray was checking his phone. “Actually, he just texted me. He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to make it to rehearsals, but he says he’ll definitely be there for the actual performance.”

Michael groaned, for what felt like the millionth time. Today had been frustrating. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve not seen this dude: never heard his voice, not seen how he reacts on stage. How am I supposed to give a good performance when I don’t know how to adjust to the singer?”

“Dude, Gavin’s good at picking this stuff up. As long as you keep to the rhythms we’ve shown you, Gav’ll pick up around you. It’s no biggie.” Ray was still attached to his phone, probably typing out a response to the mysterious frontman. 

“What, is this dude a freaking prodigy or something? No-one can be good at live music if they haven’t rehearsed their ass off beforehand.” 

Dan glanced over from where he was fiddling with his guitar. “Gav’s good at what he does. There won’t be a problem. Hey, you said it was the first night anyway. No-one’s looking for miracles.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be a bit confused if we don’t have a fucking singer.” 

“Seriously Michael, don’t worry about it.” Dan said. “You’ll understand when you meet him.”

Michael could not goddamned believe how relaxed everyone was being about this. The lead singer wasn’t bothering his asshole about the band. Wasn’t this supposed to be some kind of up and coming enthusiastic band? They had no right to be so damn chill about everything. Hey, it wasn’t his record deal on the line. He would just have to do the best he could to keep this band going for a month. 

There was only an hour before they were on. Michael was… cool, calm and collected. This was just another gig for another bullshit band that didn’t see the importance of a drummer. But, to be honest, he was pretty nervous about the whole thing. Like, this was an almost sort of professional band that wanted him to play. The lead singer still hadn’t fucking shown up, which was a little bit more than annoying. More than anything, he wanted to see who this asshole was that thought he could just stroll in, pick up a mic and start singing. 

Michael was currently working at the bar along with Lindsay. Turnout had been a bit more than expected, and he was being paid to be a bartender, not some drummer for hire. He cracked a beer and passed it along to the customer, glancing once more at the clock. 

“This asshole still isn’t here Linds. Who the hell does he think he is?”

“The band has faith in him Michael. Just go with it.” Lindsay said to him, swishing past to serve at the other side of the bar. 

Dan came up to the side of the bar, gesturing him to come over. 

“Hey, Gav’s here. You want a runthrough with him?” Finally, the asshole had deigned them with his presence. Michael shook his head.  
“It’s a bit late isn’t it? We’ll just wing it.” 

Dan stared at Michael. “Seriously man, you have nothing to worry about. Gavin can pick up drumbeats and rhythm no problem.”

“Yeah, well. That remains to be seen.” Michael grumbled. He headed into the backroom where Dan and Ray had been holed up with Geoff, being quizzed on their music preferences and inspirations, as he did with every band. Time to meet the famous Gavin.

He heard a weird, squawking shriek as he headed into the backroom, accompanied with Geoff’s distinctive laugh. Weird. He could have sworn he recognised it. Walking in behind Dan, he was greeted with the sight of a skinny guy standing on top of their ratty couch, swiping at his wet crotch with one hand and holding a bottle of half empty beer was in the other. Geoff was doubled over with laughter and Ray was chuckling and cringing away from the spill area and the precariously tilting bottle. Michael couldn’t see his face, but that stupid floppy hair and over energetic movement had coalesced into recognition and a long forgotten memory. It couldn’t be, could it? That had been years ago. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s name. 

“Hey, Gav. This is Michael, the drummer we were telling you about. Michael, this is Gavin, our rhythm guitarist, lead singer and all round absolute idiot.”

The man, Gavin, glanced up from his wet crotch and made eye contact with Michael. His mouth dropped open. Michael’s heart sank. Not this guy. Anyone but this guy.

“Wha’?” The guy said, still staring at Michael. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing shithead.” Snapped Michael, folding his arms. He didn’t have time for this. This day actually sucked.

Geoff was glancing between the two. “Do you guys know each other?” He asked. 

“Nope.” Michael said, whipsharp. “Nothing going on here. Just meeting this guy for the first time.”

The guy, Gavin, had stepped down from the couch, and was still staring at Michael unnervingly. Michael glared. It was what he was best at. There was no way Gavin was getting under his skin again. He would have no problem with Geoff’s ‘No Hanky-Panky’ order with this asshole. 

“Better get ready. We’re on soon.” He said, turning and stalking out without another word. He could still feel Gavin’s gaze on his back as he walked away. Great, just what he needed. Some dude he screwed years ago back in New Jersey coming back into his life, and dredging up a whole lot of bad memories with it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp.

 

The band that night played as well as could be expected.

 

It was unfortunate that that was not great.

 

Like, not great at all. Turns out that when the drummer and lead singer refuse to communicate the music doesn’t vibe. Who would have fucking guessed.

 

Michael couldn’t refuse to play with them. That was not an option. Not after everything Geoff had done for him. Not after his immense fuck up. Not unless he wanted to lose his job and his apartment, and his only friends.

 

So he’d played. He’d played furiously, viciously. He’d worked out his anger and his frustration and his hopelessness. He’d played longer and louder than he had for an age. And it had felt good.

 

Admittedly, doing this during the quiet introspective part of the gig where that idiot manchild had bared his soul hadn’t been the best time, but the music was calling to him man you know?

 

And, although it killed him to admit it, _Gavin_ was good. He was very good. He knew how to work the stage, he knew how to perform to the crowd, and his lyrics man _fuck._ They were amazing. They were raw, they were so. So…. _Gavin._  A mix of dumb analogies and such beautiful, insightful observations about love and regret, and introspection, _jesus._ He could see why Burnie and Geoff were so mad about them.

 

Geoff was mad _at_ him today though.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT MICHAEL? ARE YOU TRYING TO SABOTAGE MY BAR?”

 

Geoff slammed one hand on his desk. He’d dragged him into the office for a ‘private chat’ after the gig but Michael was under no illusions. Everyone could hear his ass getting dragged.

 

Michael shrugged.

 

“Sorry Boss. Just don’t think I’ve got the hang of the “Slo Mo Guys’ deal yet. How was I to know that no one played during Gavin’s spoken word?”

 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? OF COURSE YOU KNEW. DON’T BE SUCH AN ASSHOLE. THIS IS A MAJOR BREAK I’M OFFERING YOU, DON’T FUCKING SHIT ON IT.”

 

Michael said nothing.

 

Geoff sighed, ran one tattooed hand over his face. He visibly deflated.  “What is happening to you Michael? I thought you were getting happier, healthier.  I thought you’d lost these self destructive tendencies.”

 

“Guess you were wrong Boss Man’” He slumped in his chair, folding his arms.

 

“Christ Michael. You need to get a hold of yourself. I don’t know what kind of bullshit you and Gavin have going on, but I need to know you can work together. I won’t let you jeopardize this. It’s an opportunity for the both of us, and you know it. “ Geoff leaned forward. “Can I trust you to behave like an adult?”

 

Fuck he was using his dad voice. Michael was powerless to resist the fucking dad voice. He reverted to a moody child who knew he was in the wrong. He averted his eyes. “Fuck, I guess so.”

 

“Good” Geoff turned away. “Now get the fuck out and go apologize to the band.”

 

Michael got the fuck out.

 

 

 

 

      Lindsay was wiping down the bar, and glanced up as he slumped down on a bar stool.

 

“Is this your favourite spot now? This isn’t the sharing stool you know. Just because I’m a bartender doesn’t mean you can drink your sorrows away and complain to me about how much your life sucks because your 2.5 children don’t love you and your wife is fucking the pool boy.”

 

Michael glanced up at her through his eyelashes, pouting. She ignored him, and started wiping the other end of the bar.

 

He whimpered. Lindsay looked over at him.

 

“Fuck, I’m weak.” She groaned, sliding a beer down towards him. “You have one beer and 5 minutes of pity party, and then you go apologize to those sad boys.”

 

“Thanks Linds.” He mumbled, staring at the bottle. She and Geoff were right though. All he ever did was fuck up.

 

One of the girls he’d dated back in Jersey had said it was a subconscious desire to make the people around him as unhappy as he was. Then she’d shattered a lamp, they’d fucked furiously, and she had walked out of his life forever. God, she’d been beautiful, a psychology student who played bass in this shit band in her free time. He’d looked her up a few months ago on Facebook. She had a kid now, was a doctor and had a picket fence. The whole shebang. Sometimes he wondered if maybe they had stayed together… But no. That was a dangerous road to go down. One that led to bouts of self loathing and regrettable drunken phone calls.

Jesus so many of his relationships ended with a fuck and an accusation and a farewell – and sometimes not even that. Sometimes they just left with no word, no notice. He couldn’t think of one person he’d once slept with that he still spoke to. God he was such a failure. Twenty six and chasing these ridiculous dreams of stardom. Fuck he should just be happy with his loneliness. He should stop chasing these asshole musicians, when he knew they would only leave him empty.  God he couldn’t even remember faces, or names – just their voices, and the way they played, and how they played with him. How could he be such a selfish asshole? No wonder they always left.

 

Lindsay whapped him on the back of the head with her dishtowel, bringing him out of his reverie. “That’s enough self loathing, loser. Time to go.”

 

“Jesus! Do you know how unsanitary that is Lindsay? I’m gonna need to wash my hair in fucking bleach now.” Michael muttered. Nonetheless, he slid off the bar stool and stood. “Where the hell are they anyway?”

 

Lindsay pointed. “They’re out back crying.”

 

“Wait seriously?”

 

“Yep, that one British dude with the floofy hair had like, snot and shit and was sobbing about how it was all his fault, and the cute tall British guy was like, hugging him and saying you were a dick and they’d go back to a drum machine and shit.”

 

“Jesus God give me strength.” Michael muttered, downing his beer and heading round to the employee entrance.

 

 

So either Lindsay was lying, or this Gavin guy was remarkably quick to recover Michael mused as he shoved open the back door. Gavin was currently laughing with Dan and Ray, as they stood next to their van. The laughter stopped as they spotted Michael.

 

_Fuck I can’t do this_.

 

Michael squared his shoulders. He would do this. He would do this for Geoff, and Lindsay, and himself. He would be the bigger man here, even if it meant speaking to the man he hadn’t thought about for 10 years.

 

Ray and Dan stared at him silently. He nodded to them. “Hey guys.”

 

Dan folded his arms. “You want to tell me what happened out there man? I thought you’d picked up the basics. You seemed confident enough earlier.”

 

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I… uhh.. just kinda had some shit going on. I don’t really know what happened.”

 

Dan looked unconvinced. Ray chimed in with a snort.

 

“Don’t let it happen again man. We looked like total unprofessional assholes out there.” He said.

 

“Yeah to the entire audience of, like, 5 fucking people, Ray don’t over play this.” Michael snapped.  Their body language tightened – Jesus were they some weird ass clone group? How were they so in sync? But he was getting defensive. He had to stay on message.

 

He took a deep breath. “I acknowledge I was in the wrong, and I fucked up badly. But it happened and we need to move on. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. If you guys are willing to keep me on as your drummer for the month, then I am happy, even excited to continue playing with you. But I understand if you guys want to find someone else. I know a few guys I can recommend.”

 

Dan glanced at Gavin.

 

“S’up to you boi. I think he’s one of the best drummers I’ve heard since we came over to the States, but if we can’t trust him not to have some kind of anger explosion and fuck up the set then we can try and find someone else.”

 

Ray nodded. “I agree. I think Michael clicks with us in a way others haven’t. But you have the judgment call.”

 

Gavin stared at him with those stupid green eyes. He still hadn’t said a word to Michael – well Michael had made it clear that any discussion of the past was off limits anyway.

 

He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders. “I don’t need you guys to make a decision right away. I’m working tomorrow, so I’ll see you then.” He turned to walk away.

 

“Michael, wait!”

 

God his voice still sounded the same. That ridiculous British accent, and the way it butchered his name. It brought a wave of memories crashing back to him, of laughter and heartbreak and mutual destruction.

 

If he turned, this was it. He was embracing all the shit that he’d tried to leave behind in New Jersey. He’d be dredging up parts of his past, and parts of his personality he didn’t like, and he didn’t think anyone else would like either. It was now or never.

 

Michael turned around.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Michael was done. He was so done. He was out, he was gone, he was leaving forever to live in Spain.

 

Well that’s an exaggeration. His Spanish was poor.

 

But he was so fucking over playing in this bullshit band with their stupid irresponsible singer and his ridiculous requests.

 

“But Michael, I just want you to come in like, two beats early! How is that so hard?”

 

“Because the song doesn’t flow properly that way asshole! It’s better to let it build to a further crescendo and then explode into the bridge, not just casually come in halfway through like an awkward passer-by ‘HURDUR I’M HERE NOW MY BAD.’ It just makes so much more sense to come in like ‘HEY MOTHERFUCKERS I’M HERE AND I’M READY TO PARTY.’

 

“Michael what on earth are you talking about? That is the oddest analogy I’ve ever heard! It makes no sense!”

 

“YEAH WELL WE ALL DIDN’T GO TO FANCY MUSIC SCHOOL ASSHOLE.”

 

It was Friday. The first big show night. They’d been at each other’s throats the entire week, since Gavin had ever so graciously accepted Michael’s apology like the holy, do no wrong kinda guy they all seemed to think he was.

 

 Well Michael knew better. He knew what an asshole Gavin was and he was fighting him every single step of the way. How dare Gavin act like he knew how a rhythm section worked when they both knew he had no idea.

 

Ray and Dan had accepted this arguing as a ‘part of the creative process’ as Gavin so delicately put it when Geoff had questioned their explosive arguments. Dan was chatting to Lindsay up at the bar, and Ray was sitting on the stage with his DS.

 

 

Dan and Lindsay had discovered a mutual love of shitty faux-reality tv shows, and were frankly getting on like a house on fire. The exact opposite of Michael and Gavin, some would say.

 

“So, how do those guys know each other anyway?” asked Dan, sipping his ‘on the house’ coke, watching the two bicker.

 

‘Beats me. Honestly, I asked Michael about it and he closed up tighter than a clam. Just stared at the ground and said he’d never met him before. What did Gavin say?” Lindsay shrugged.

 

Dan sighed. “Gavin won’t say anything about it. Just changes the subject every time I bring up Michael. I’ve never seen him like this before, we’ve been best friends for years – we tell each other everything.” Dan stared sightlessly at the television where some blonde lady was shouting at some old guy and throwing her water in his face.

 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it. Gavin’s normally so easy going. He’s pretty much a pushover. He hates conflict. I can’t understand him acting this way.’

 

Lindsay snorted. “I wish I could say the same about Michael. He could argue with a blank page. In fact, he does. Daily.”

 

Dan glanced at her. “How so?”

 

“In that tatty notebook he carries around. He writes songs. Have you never seen him? He gets so frustrated with it. Says it’s ‘important he gets his words right.’”

 

“He writes songs? Can’t believe he’s never spoken about it before.” Dan said. He glanced at the arguing two. “Although, I can see why he might not have brought it up, if he thought it would lead to this.”

 

Gavin was just being so damn unreasonable. He was refusing to even listen to Michael’s point of view. Stubborn headed asshole, unwilling to try and see things from another side. Typical British dick.

 

“Michael, this is the most important night thus far. We have a fully packed bar tonight. I cannot, _will not_ change an arrangement a few hours before we’re due to perform.”

 

“Why are you being such a fucking prick about this? You know it makes sense! It adds depth and interest to the song!”

 

“Michael, this is my song, and my band and my arse on the line! I won’t let anything happen to wreck this night! Now can I trust you to perform the way we agreed?”

 

Michael scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fine.” He muttered. “But I’m not dropping this.”

 

Gavin grinned at him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less honestly.” Michael glared and sat behind the drums, tapping a nervous, frustrated fill on the snare repeatedly. It was a tick of his.  Gavin turned to walk off.

 

“Need to go off to the park. Should be back before we’re on.“ He raised a hand in farewell. Dan and Ray shouted goodbyes as he walked out the bar, Ray barely raising his eyes from his game.

 

 

Lindsay glanced over at Dan, who was frowning at his phone.

 

“You playing your dumb online games again?” she laughed. “That shit’s addictive”

 

Dan sighed. “None of my friends will send me lives.”

 

“It’s a hard life, being a superhype band that everyone’s talking about, but you have no one who loves you enough to support your phone game addiction.”

 

Dan chuckled. “I know right? It’s not on.”

 

“So what’s the deal with Gavin always wandering off?” Lindsay asked. Michael’s ears pricked up. He’d been wondering the same thing, but wasn’t willing to start a discussion with or about Gavin.

 

Dan shrugged. “I dunno honestly. He never used to have the habit in England, but he moved over here about 10 years ago and just started trying to find the nearest greenery. He does it to clear his head I think. Says that there’s not enough ‘green shit’ in America and that it reminds him of the good ol’ days.”

 

“Huh.” Lindsay frowned. “Well, whatever makes him happy I suppose. Gotta keep the talent engaged.” 

 

Suddenly the drums were a lot less comforting. Michael stormed over to Lindsay and Dan, face like a thundercloud.

 

“You said he picked up the stupid parks habit when he moved over to America?”  He asked Dan.

 

 “Yeah man, he left school when he was like, 17 and moved over to New York cause he wanted to live the dream. I moved over a few years ago when he actually started getting some traction in this music biz. Dunno what he was doing before then. Like, serving tables and doing menial shit I suppose. Probably found parks to be the one place he could chill out and switch off.”

 

_“This is the only place I really feel like myself. I can’t concentrate anywhere else. I always feel like I need to be switched on and like, false, you know what I mean? It gives me the energy to write, to create. You’re like, the first person I’ve met over here who understands me.”_

_“You sound like a pretentious asshole, fuckface.”_

_He laughs and it sounds like sunshine. “Well yeah you prick. That’s my real personality innit.”_

 

 

 

 

Michael shrugs off the memory. He’d forgotten so much, through virtue of a hell of a lot of alcohol and some willful forgetfulness and ignorance. He hadn’t wanted to remember, and his stubborn asshole mind had, for once, allowed it.

 

 

“What a fucking idiot. Fucking parks.” He mutters, and leaves Dan and Lindsay to their banal conversation.

 

 

 

He stands outside the entrance to the bar. It’s still early – doors don’t open for a couple hours yet. It’s hot, and dusty, and he finds himself longing for the cooler air of New York. He thinks of his family – the parents he hasn’t spoken to in years, and the brothers he left behind. He remembers school trips to the museums in the big city, and the friends he’d had there. He remembers leaving home, with nothing but the clothes on his back – jeez there was a cliché.

 

 

He thinks of the places he’s travelled – anywhere the trucks would take him, anywhere that the buses offered a cheap ticket to.

 

He remembers working shit jobs – crappy construction sites, and bar backs and kitchen boys – anything to make some money, to get a motel room for the night, to find food, anything. Hanging out in bars every night, trying desperately to find bands that might need drummers, or even guitarists – anything to make connections, to get a foot in the door. More than that though.  He wanted to feel like he existed, like he was needed.  

 

He remembers the nights he’d spent on the streets, shivering on benches, and in doorways, hoping that he’d survive the night and swearing to himself that he’d never have to do it again, he would get out of this fucked up life and make something of himself. 

 

And he remembers Gavin. His dumb laugh, his stupid hair, and how they’d found each other and connected in a way he’d never thought possible. For one amazing, short week. Before he’d left, with no word and no goodbye. Like a ghost.  He’d left and he’d taken Michael’s fucked up, shattered heart with him.

 

 

He laughs wryly at the thought that his weakness for musicians with beautiful accents had begun with Gavin, yet he’d never even heard him play. He goes back inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only another year and a half wait for the next two chapters.


End file.
